


Saturated Sunrise

by narcissablaxk



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Ballroom Dance AU, F/M, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-01-09 23:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12286923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Benjamin Tallmadge is dismayed to find he has to take a physical education class, and even more dismayed when he realizes that he can only take ballroom dance. Fortunately, he has a very good teacher.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wellreadfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellreadfan/gifts), [grumblebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/gifts), [Nimravidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/gifts).



The first day of class was always a stressful one for Ben; there was the fun of the new school supplies, the anticipation of a fun class, but that was always outweighed by the pressure of introducing himself to a class full of people he didn’t know, under the watchful gaze of his new teacher, that ruined it. To make matters worse, his academic advisor informed him only a week ago that he needed to sign up for a physical education course to meet his degree requirements. What did English have to do with physical education? Not a damn thing, he’d argued, but it was a mandatory credit for everyone, his advisor responded with a condescending sniff. 

No matter how much he protested, the answer was always the same: no, you have to take this class, and the longer you complain, the fewer options you have. By the time he got around to picking a class, all that was left was wrestling (no thank you), swimming (Ben almost drowned when he was a kid and now had an embarrassing fear of the water), and ballroom dance. 

With a resigned sigh, he clicked on ballroom dance and added it to his electronic schedule, printing it out when he was finished. Annoyingly enough, that ballroom dance class was his first one, at nine in the morning on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. 

“Dress for movement,” the email said when he confirmed his registration. Just looking at those three words sent a flutter through his gut. He was going to make a complete fool of himself, he knew it. 

It was only for a semester, he told himself over and over again as he trudged to the theatre building in his track pants and old Setauket crew shirt. He only had to endure this for a semester. Luckily, he was barely through the door of the dance studio before he caught sight of a familiar ponytail. 

“Benjamin Tallmadge!” Anna said with a grin, dressed in dark green tights, a burnt orange sports bra, and a black cardigan, looking far more put together than Ben ever felt. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in this class?” 

“Late registration,” he shrugged. “It was either this or swimming.” 

Immediately, she nodded knowingly. “Ahh, understood.” 

“So, promise you’ll be my partner?” he asked, stepping closer to her as more students crowded into the room. “I don’t know anyone else here.” 

Anna winced in apology. “Actually, I already promised Selah I’d be his partner.” 

“Selah Strong?” Ben asked with a grimace. “That brooding philosophy major that asked you out last semester?” 

“Give him a chance, you judgmental little shit,” she elbowed him in the gut. “He’s nice.” 

“Sure, he’s nice,” Ben said, placing a sarcastic emphasis on the word as the students in the front of the room started to fall silent. “I’m sure that’s how everyone described Edgar Allen Poe –”

“Good morning, class,” a deep, booming voice cut off their conversation, and Ben immediately turned toward the sound. A large, intimidating man was standing in the doorway, his hair short and just slightly auburn, the hint of stubble coming in on his jaw. 

“Dang,” Anna muttered to Ben. “He’s hot.” 

Ben nodded without speaking as Selah sidled up to Anna, catching her attention. He rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that he disliked Selah, per se, but the guy was seriously hard to read. He had those big brown eyes that stared into you like he knew you didn’t actually like him, and that gaze always made Ben nervous. 

“I am your dance professor. You can call me Washington; I do not require a ‘doctor’ at the beginning, my name is sufficiently long enough. Now, tell me, how many of you have ever taken a dance class before?” 

A lanky man at the front of the class put his hand up, along with a red headed man beside him. No one else raised their hands. There was a general rustling in the room that spoke to discomfort. Washington heard and raised both hands with a smile. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassured them, “this is an introductory class. I will teach you a few dances, but your credit in this class comes mostly from effort, participation, and attendance. Some people have more trouble dancing than others,” he was pacing in front of the room now, his footsteps light and soundless. “For some of you, the movement will come as easily as breathing. For the rest of you, this class will be frustrating, and exhausting. All that I ask is you come to class ready to try and unafraid of looking silly.” 

The class was listening with rapt attention; even Ben found himself entranced by the man’s commanding voice and presence. There was something magnetic about him that silenced even the quietest whispers at the back of the classroom. He did not ask for your attention; you gave it, willingly, and without thought of payment. 

He was a dangerous man, Ben knew. Men like that were charismatic and charming, and Ben had an intrinsic need to impress them. 

This man would be no different. 

***

George loved the first day of class. First impressions were his favorite; students were always nervous on the first day and that apprehension often told him all he needed to know about them as people. Some of the girls would be closed off and tense, but he knew they would eventually blossom. Some men would stand off to the side and snicker into their hands while George talked about postures. Most of those men wanted nothing more than the women that took the class, and they would, more often than not, prove to be only mediocre dancers. 

Some women came because they knew they were made to dance; they were tall, elegant, composed. Others came because they wanted to feel at home in their bodies; George liked teaching those women the most. The ones that came because they felt out of sorts in their own skin, the ones that had been told they couldn’t dance, that they were too short, too fat, too something to be a dancer – those were always the best dancers. 

And sometimes, the men surprised him too. 

He spotted Gilbert and Alex in the front of the class, Gilbert bashful and Alex smirking a little too wide for his liking. They had both taken his modern dance class the semester before, and both had proved to be talented individuals. George gifted them both with a half smile before he continued to survey the class. 

“Why don’t we start with some stretches?” George asked. “I want you all to follow me, if you can. Don’t push your muscles too far, allow them to give,” he spread his arms wide, his shoulders low, “and hold it for eight seconds. That’s how long it takes for your muscle to get acclimated to the movement.” 

He watched, in the mirror, as the class struggled to give themselves room enough to stretch, some cramming themselves in the back of the class where they couldn’t be seen, and others just trying to make sure they weren’t going to get smacked in the face. He held his arms out that way, enjoying the way his shoulders stretched, until the class matched him. 

“Imagine you’re a puppet,” he said, letting his voice drop low and almost dream-like. “And you’re being held up by a puppeteer. The string that controls you holds up only your head, and the rest of you is dangling, loose, light, free. Let the weight flow out of your body. Carry nothing.” 

The silence lingered. “Now, gently lower your arms to your sides, keep your shoulders low,” he instructed, suppressing the roll of his eyes when he heard arms slapping sides. “I said gently,” he admonished. “Now, pull your shoulders up, tight, tight, tight,” he mimicked the movement, his eyes following the students. “Now let them drop.” 

He led them through several more stretches, watching with sharp, discerning eyes as some students struggled with certain movements, while others moved easily through them. This first class always told him who was going to take the class seriously; but that knowledge didn’t matter. Usually, the ones that didn’t want to be there dropped before the first exam. 

George had a reputation. He wasn’t a mean teacher by any means, but he certainly was a tough one. Attendance in his class was mandatory – there was no getting around it. The exams were rigorous, and he was always ruthless with his criticism. 

“Great, now let’s see what you know about your frame,” George said, clapping his hands together once. He turned back to the class, a smirk on his lips. Everyone was staring at him, eyes slightly wider than usual. “Your frame,” he said, stepping easily into his own, “is crucial to any ballroom dance.” 

He held the pose for a moment and allowed the rest of the class to watch him. “Now, mimic me as best you can,” he instructed. Gilbert and Alex were already correct; he bypassed them with just an approving nod. “Ladies will be just slightly different than the men, but since we have a disparity between men and women, it looks like some of you will have to switch genders for the sake of a partner, so I’ll teach you both ways.” 

One of the men at the back of the room winced. “If you can’t handle being led in a dance, how on earth do you think you’re going to handle being led by a woman in other areas?” he raised an eyebrow at the man in question, who straightened his shoulders, a typical male answer to a challenge. George chuckled to himself. 

“Gilbert, if you would –”

The man in question stepped forward, his frame still holding steady, if a little stiff, but his eyes were shining with happiness at being called out. 

“Notice how Gilbert’s arms are,” George began. “We’re working on a closed hold first, so I want you to notice a few things.” Cleanly, smoothly, he stepped into Gilbert’s frame, easily switching Gilbert from a male frame to a female one. 

“Now, the man, or in this case, the one leading, will stand slightly offset to his partner,” George instructed. “Partner up.” 

Almost immediately, the men and women were separated, leaving only a couple of people without a partner: Alex, who was patiently waiting for his usual partner to be returned to him, and a man near the back of the room with hair just slightly too long to be accidentally shaggy. With a nod, George released Gilbert to stand in front of Alex, and looked at the student he didn’t recognize. 

“What’s your name?” he asked. 

“Ben,” the student said, his voice far quieter than George imagined it would be, but the same honey sweet sound his face portrayed. “Benjamin Tallmadge.” 

“Well, Mr. Tallmadge, it seems that you will be my partner,” George said, opening his frame again. “So, if you would –”

“Um…what – what do you want me to do?” the boy asked, because he truly looked like a boy, with his large blue eyes that George hadn’t noticed until he got closer. 

“I’ll teach you,” George reassured him. “That’s my job.” 

A girl in the back of the class, with a dark ponytail, chuckled, but George knew, from years of experience, that it wasn’t a laugh of malice. He let himself smile at the sound. Ben, bolstered by the smile, stepped forward, into George’s frame. 

“I – I don’t know what to do…” he trailed off. 

“Do what feels right,” George said. “I will adjust you.” 

The boy’s face turned a light pink, the faintest, delicate blush, and George had to remind himself that he was in a classroom full of students. He let him straighten up and place his hand in George’s left one, his right one on George’s shoulder. 

“Good,” George said, softening the word just a little. Ben relaxed, his shoulders dropping into a more upright stance. “Now straighten your back a little.” He let his fingers, resting gently between Ben’s shoulder blades, to tap him in the spine just so, and felt the boy’s spine go stiff, and then relax, straight. “Perfect.”

Ben exhaled in relief, enough to knock his posture out of his stance, but George allowed it. The sound was too familiar, too enticing, and he was suddenly very aware that he was standing in a room full of people waiting for his instruction. Instead, he left the boy at the front of the classroom and walked through the pairs, adjusting where he saw mistakes, reassuring students that yes, the posture is hard to maintain, yes, your arms get tired, yes, it will get easier. 

By the time the class was over, he had almost forgotten his partner at the front of the class, mimicking Gilbert and Alex’s frame in turn, letting the two more experienced dancers tell him when to drop his shoulders, when to tilt his chin up, with complete trust. But as the clock ticked over to 9:50, he had to turn back to him and announce to the class that they were free to go. 

“Go get dance shoes from the Student Union Building,” he called out as the students started to leave. “See you Friday.” 

Alex and Gilbert were waiting for him when the rest of the class filed out, but so was Benjamin, his bag over his shoulder and his fingers nervously pulling at a loose thread on the strap. 

“Would you two, give us just a second?” George asked. 

They didn’t need to be asked twice; Gilbert took Alex by the arm and pulled him out of the classroom, closing the door securely behind him. George didn’t need to know why the boy was here; he didn’t want to be George’s partner – he probably wanted to be partnered with the pretty dark haired girl that had laughed at him earlier in the class. This was a typical response, especially from men. 

“Mr. Tallmadge,” George began, “I’m sorry for singling you out in front of the class – if you are uncomfortable partnering with your instructor, I can –”

“Oh no, sir, I was actually going to thank you for taking pity on me,” Ben said with a laugh. “I only know one friend, and she partnered up with a guy she likes, so I can’t ask her to be my partner.” 

“I see,” George said with a smirk, the smile dawning on him suddenly. “Well, what a good friend you are.” 

“I try to be,” Ben shrugged, already heading toward the door. The conversation was so short, but George could feel the heavy weight of subtext, that Ben was saying something that he couldn’t say out loud. 

He wanted to stop him, to call him back and keep talking to him, but he couldn’t think of any other place for the conversation to go, not without crossing a line into inappropriate waters. Oh well, George thought. He would have the whole semester to learn things about Ben, to hear him laugh the way he did when he was bashful. He had time. 

Just as he was going to turn away from him, Ben spoke again. “Be my partner on Friday?” 

“Nine o’clock sharp, Benjamin,” George said sternly. “Can’t be late now that I know your name.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good waltz is slow and close.

“I can’t believe you get to dance with the smoking hot dance teacher,” Anna nudged Ben playfully with her arm, the afternoon sun making her giddy grin even brighter. Ben pursed his lips, trying to hide his smile. He was only lucky Anna left before she’d seen him talking to Washington after class; if she’d seen it, she’d be truly insufferable. There was something heady about that conversation, like they had both been toeing around something neither of them wanted to mention. It was still a mystery even to him, and he was content to keep that conversation a secret until he figured it out.

“Shut up,” he replied lightly, “it’s just a class.”

Anna rolled her eyes, “And your face is bright red because –”

“Because you’re embarrassing me!” he exclaimed, self-consciously rubbing his face to dispel the blush. “He’s just my partner because you’re too busy flirting.”

Anna squinted and nodded sarcastically. “Yes, I’m sure being partnered with a sexy older man is such an issue with you,” she laughed, pushing open the door to the Student Union Building, bustling with activity. “However will you survive?”

Ben ignored her, his eyes searching through the throng of students for the rack of dance shoes, pushed to the back of the store, since protein bars, novelty footballs, and energy drinks were far more important to the everyday consumer. His eyes passed over the stacks of athletic clothes, and he made a mental note to come back to them. But first – first he needed those damn dance shoes.

He could still hear Anna talking, something about broad shoulders and just a hint of stubble. He suppressed an eye roll and a smirk as her voice got a little shriller when she noticed he wasn’t listening.

“Benjamin Francis Tallmadge, are you even listening to me?” Anna protested from behind him.

“I’m actually doing my best to tune you out,” Ben called back, his eyes finally landing on his prize. Now he just had to find the right size…

“Why?” Anna teased, finally catching up with him. “Too busy fantasizing about Geor –”

“Benjamin Tallmadge, right?” the red-headed man from class was suddenly in Ben’s line of vision, his eyebrows quirked in that maddening way of his. His eyes danced between Ben and Anna.

“Uh, yes,” Ben replied cautiously. “Alex, right?” he asked, trying to remember who had mentioned the man’s name.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he corrected and extended his hand, very firmly shaking it. Ben suppressed a wince. “And this is Gilbert.”

Gilbert’s handshake was soft and gentle, almost an apologetic reprieve.

“Alexander, Gilbert, Anna,” Ben tilted his head toward his friend, standing at his elbow. Hamilton took her hand and, instead of shaking it like there was a bug on it, brought it to his lips and kissed it. Gilbert mirrored him. Anna, tough, hard-to-please Anna, giggled and allowed it.

Ben glared at her in disbelief. She reclaimed her hand and shrugged.

“Picking up dance shoes, are we?” Gilbert asked, turning his gaze to the stack of boxes in front of Ben.

“Yeah,” Ben allowed, his eyes landing on the sizes and scanning quickly. “Are you?”

“Oh, no,” Alex waved off the notion. “We got dance shoes last semester. Gilbert had to pick up a book of poetry for his literature class. Thought we’d say hello.”

“Oh…” Ben glanced back at Anna, who blinked. They all lingered there, trying to figure out what came next. “Well, it was nice to see you.”

“Sure,” Alex said, his eyes boring into Ben’s like he could read his mind. “We’ll see you in class on Friday.” 

And just like that, as if they vanished into thin air, they were both gone, Gilbert’s hand tucked into the crook of Alex’s elbow, and Ben was left stunned, holding a pair of dance shoes Gilbert pressed into his hand. Size 11, just his size. 

***

Washington expected them to have mastered the close hold by the time they got to class on Friday, their dance shoes shiny and new, Ben’s hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Out of habit, he moved to the back of the class, where Anna was standing beside Selah. When Washington walked in, his dance shoes scuffed and worn, Ben immediately felt the pressure of his eyes on him. 

“Go,” Anna smirked, nudging Ben forward. He glared at her over his shoulder, coming to rest beside Alex and Gilbert. Alex didn’t look at him, but his lips quirked in a smile. Gilbert leaned forward and waved cheerily. 

“Good morning, class.” There was a jaunty lilt to Washington’s voice when he noticed Ben at the front of the class. “Let’s work through some stretches,” Washington’s voice was a much deeper boom this close to him, and Ben averted his eyes when his gaze came to him, suddenly shy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Washington raise his arms high into the air, and mirrored the stretch. 

His arms were sore from Wednesday, and based on the groaning that echoed through the studio, the rest of the class felt the burn, too. Despite the ache, he kept his shoulders low and his chin up as they lowered their arms, coming to a rest straight out, and felt Washington very gently tap his spine to straighten his back. 

“Good,” he said, so quietly it was almost an exhale. Ben sighed in contentment. 

Washington moved them through new stretches, his movements smooth and unencumbered. Ben seethed in quiet jealousy as Washington moved them through a stretch that required balancing on one foot, demonstrating the pose he wanted with ease while he watched the rest of the class sway and jerk, trying to keep themselves upright. Ben, not unlike his peers, was forced to catch himself on Alex’s shoulder. 

Washington met his eyes and gave him a wink, like they were sharing an unspoken secret. Washington lifted his hands, indicating his stiff posture, and Ben mirrored him, finding that his balance was much more manageable while he was standing up straight. When his wobbling stopped, Washington nodded approvingly. 

“Thank you, class,” he finally said, and arms slapped sides throughout the room as everyone relaxed and took the opportunity to stretch their sore muscles. “Take a moment, drink some water. We are going to start working on the waltz today.”

“Now,” he said as he paced through the class, “the waltz is a nice beginner’s dance, but it is exceedingly graceful. We do not plod across the dance floor like a herd of cattle, we glide.” To drive home his point, he stepped cleanly and smoothly through two students toward the back of the class, the movement seamless and silent. “Typically the waltz occurs in three-four time, so we will count our way through like this,” he paused, in the center of the floor, and said, quietly “one, two, three, one, two, three.” Eyes followed him obsessively, hoping for an indicator of the difficulty of the dance. Ben watched hungrily, marking the way Washington’s feet moved, trying to convert it to memory. 

He wanted to impress him. 

“The Viennese waltz is a little more fun, and has a little more jaunt to it, but we’ll start with the traditional waltz,” Washington allowed, moving toward the front of the room. “Alex, if I might borrow you for a moment, and Gilbert, would you please partner up with Mr. Tallmadge?” 

Partners were shuffled, and Ben was forced to watch as Alex stepped easily into the closed hold they had practiced on Monday, and Washington led him through a few rotations, their feet moving in sync, as though they had done this a million times before. On their final rotation, Washington led Alex through a spin and a dip, just graceful enough to look completely planned; the only indicator that it was a surprise was the silly grin on Alex’s face, a delighted sparkle in his eye that was strikingly different from the usual dry wit that Ben usually saw there. 

Waves of nerves crashed through Ben’s belly, and suddenly, he felt ungainly and awkward. He could never hope to dance that well, or have that kind of chemistry, with Washington. He was nothing more than a beginner, an amateur, and here Alex was, spinning around the room like Belle with the goddamn Beast with his slightly scuffed dance shoes he’d had since the semester before. 

“Alright,” suddenly, Alex’s turn was over, and Washington was offering Ben his hand. “Everyone try to move through the box step that I just showed you. Leaders will start on their left foot. Everyone else starts on the right.” 

Ben stared at the hand, extended toward him, for a long moment, his body struggling through the nerves coursing through him. Finally, as Alex moved toward Gilbert, Ben took Washington’s hand and let him guide him into the closed hold. 

“Don’t forget that straight back,” Washington reminded him. “Now,” he directed to the whole class, “a good waltz is slow and close, so don’t be afraid to trust your partner.” 

He stepped just a little bit closer to Ben, his eyes on him, as if waiting for Ben to put on the brakes, but Ben just stared defiantly back at him. “Okay,” he said softly, just for Ben to hear, “let’s try the box step. We’re going to start on your right foot,” he stepped to the left, Ben’s following instinctively after him. “Careful about landing on your heels,” he said lightly, “and follow.” 

They were so close that Ben could feel Washington’s breath on his cheek, his chest against his own. Every time Washington’s gaze left his and focused on someone else, Ben could smell just a hint of his aftershave, something woodsy and heady. It was enough to make him forget the steps he was trying so desperately to remember, and every time Washington looked back down at him to make sure he was still following, Ben stumbled even more. 

By the time the class was over, Ben had momentarily forgotten his jealousy and the feeling was completely overshadowed by frustration. Every time he thought he’d got the steps memorized, he would stumble or start on the wrong foot. Washington was ever-patient, and smiling, and kind, but it just incensed him more. How dare he be kind to Ben when he was dancing like a thirteen year old? 

“Thank you for your hard work, class,” Washington said, stepping away from Ben. He exhaled shakily, feeling like his energy left when his body heat did. “We will continue working through the waltz on Monday. Enjoy your weekend, you’re dismissed.” 

As usual, the class emptied fairly quickly, Alex and Gilbert lingering by the door in the knowing way they did things, Anna’s questioning glance back at Ben telling him she would be interrogating him later. But still, Ben lingered, watching as Washington wiped the sweat from his brow with a little blue towel by his water bottle. He looked so at ease, so at home in his body and this studio, that Ben felt anxiety crash over again. He should just leave, he decided. 

“Benjamin?” Washington’s tone was just slightly surprised, but Ben could hear the smile in it, even without seeing it. “Was there something you needed?” 

Ben’s mouth went dry. “Um, well, not really,” he stammered, his eyes finding purchase on the smooth floor instead of Washington’s expectant fact. “I just wanted to apologize for being so...awful today.” 

“Awful?” Washington questioned. “I don’t understand.” 

Ben shook his head. “I mean, it must be terrible to have to dance with me when Alex is so obviously better,” he didn’t mean for it to come out bitter, but it did, and Washington chuckled under his breath, just enough to make Ben even more insecure. What was so funny? 

“Alex is good,” Washington acknowledged. “But he took a dance class last semester,” he reminded him. “He has months more experience than you do, Benjamin. I didn’t think you were awful at all. On the contrary, I thought you were just fine.” 

Somehow, fine was even worse than awful. But still, Washington continued. 

“I think you second guess yourself halfway through a movement, so you don’t always commit, and that makes your steps shorter, your arms a little looser, and so on. It’s natural with new dancers, and soon, you won’t do it at all. But it, like everything else, takes some time.” 

While he was talking, he walked to a little mini-fridge in the corner and popped it open, pulling out a purple Gatorade. “Want one?” he offered, tossing it in Ben’s direction without waiting for an answer. 

After a few moments of silence, Ben in agony, trying to figure out what to say next, Washington spoke again. “What can I do to make you feel more at ease?” His voice was tantalizingly gentle, and caring, and Ben fumbled for the solution. 

“Would...would you tutor me?” he asked tentatively. 

Washington smirked. “I really don’t think you need it -”

“Please, sir,” Ben pleaded. “I - I do need it.” 

Washington surveyed him closely for a moment, though what he was looking for, Ben couldn’t tell. “Your wish is my command, Benjamin. Tuesday and Thursday afternoon work for you?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ben can't sleep, Anna embarrasses Ben, and George and Ben have their first tutoring session.

The prospect of tutoring sessions, of one-on-one time with George, gave every moment of the weekend a frantic sort of anxiety, and Ben was both shocked and troubled when Sunday ended almost as quickly as Saturday dawned. He stared at the ceiling for hours, trying to sleep, knowing that if he couldn’t force himself to drift off soon, he would be a half-awake zombie in his dance class on Monday morning. Still, dreams eluded him, and his moments of sleep were brief, and felt like blinks. 

Still, he rose on time on Monday, and slid into a pair of athletic pants and an old Setauket High School shirt, rubbing his eyes ruefully. He doubled his usual amount of morning coffee and stared at the kitchen counter, waiting for it to cool enough to drink. 

He had barely taken his first sips when his phone beeped; Anna’s regular announcement that she was outside his apartment, waiting to drive him to class. He slid his phone into his pocket and took a bracing gulp of the still not-quite-cool-enough coffee and slipped out the front door. 

“You look like shit,” she remarked, her long dark hair in two braids, her face fresh and awake. He was annoyed just looking at her. “Have you tried sleeping?” 

“Oh wow, you know what, I’ve never heard of that,” Ben shot back sarcastically. “Perhaps all my problems will be solved by this hitherto unheard of phenomenon of sleep.” 

Anna chuckled and pulled out of the parking lot. “Okay, Ben is in a bad mood,” she replied. “Duly noted.” 

“I spent hours trying to sleep last night,” he said with a groan. “Nothing.” 

Anna nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I can see how the idea of dancing with George on Monday morning could keep you up at night, if you know what I mean.”

“I always know what you mean,” Ben retorted. “Can we please not make masturbation jokes in front of the smoking hot teacher?” 

Anna swiped Ben’s coffee cup and took a sip, passing it easily back to him. “Sure, sure, unless you want me to drop a hint…?” 

“I will hit you with your own car,” Ben promised. “Look, parking spot!” 

Anna swerved, swinging the small car easily into the only open spot in Ben’s immediate line of sight. “Amazing, we did it,” she said triumphantly, giving Ben a happy high-five. “Looks like our parking nightmare has been postponed until tomorrow.” 

“Speaking of tomorrow,” Ben said leadingly, sliding out of the car and slipping his bag over his shoulder. “I don’t need a ride home tomorrow afternoon.” 

Anna followed suit, locking her car with a perky little honk. “You don’t?” she asked. “Why?” 

“I uh…” Ben hesitated. “I have…tutoring.” 

“Tutoring?” she repeated. “For what?” 

“Just tutoring,” Ben replied, using his long strides to keep his awful poker face out of Anna’s very perceptive sight. “It’s on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” 

With a nonchalant trot, Anna caught up to him and slipped her arm through his. “I didn’t know you were having trouble with a class,” she said, so sympathetically that Ben immediately felt guilty. “Which one? Maybe I can help.” 

“You….can’t help,” Ben said vaguely. 

“Why not?” she asked. 

“Because you are not an expert in the subject, okay?” he stammered, flustered. “Can we stop with the third degree already?” 

They were in front of the theatre and dance building, their other classmates milling around the locked studio door; he could see Alex and Selah through the glass door. He wanted this conversation finished before they walked into the building and the likelihood that Washington would overhear them increased tenfold. 

“Why are you so jumpy?” Anna snapped, quickly shifting toward annoyed. “You’re acting like…oh,” she breathed, grabbing Ben by the arm. “You didn’t.” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” Ben rushed. “Now, can we talk about this –”

“You already managed to finesse your way to tutoring with the smoking hot –”

A throat cleared behind them, the sound curiously familiar. “Mr. Tallmadge, Miss…” 

Ben was fairly sure he was going to faint from embarrassment; he widened his eyes at Anna, who looked like she was going to start laughing uproariously at any moment. Now would be the least opportune time for Anna’s acting skills to fall by the wayside. 

“Smith, sir,” Anna replied quickly, her cheeks flushing just enough for Ben to notice. “Good…good morning.” 

Washington’s eyes flickered over to Ben for just a moment before coming to rest on Anna once more. “It certainly is, isn’t it?” he acknowledged. He nodded in the direction of the rest of the students, still loitering in the hallway. “Is there something wrong with the classroom?” 

“No,” Ben blurted suddenly. “Anna was just…talking to me about…” he cast his eyes about for something to use as an excuse. He found nothing, and came back to Washington empty. “Something.” 

“Yes, I heard,” Washington’s lips twitched like he wanted to smirk, but he managed to keep his expression under control. Ben stopped breathing. 

For a moment or two, it was painfully quiet, the air heavy with something unsaid. Finally, Washington gave him a half-smile. “Well, class starts in eight minutes. Don’t be late.” 

“Of course not, sir,” Anna answered squeakily as he walked away, glancing back for just a moment as the glass door closed behind him. “Holy shit.” 

“You piece of –”

“If you had just told me in the car –”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Whatever, whatever, just go,” he muttered, shoving Anna in the direction of the door. She chuckled and pushed the door open, holding it open so Ben could follow after. He left his bag in the back of the room and took his place beside Gilbert and Alex, the former waving happily at him, the other giving him a side smirk that was becoming his usual salutation. 

Class sailed by almost too quickly for Ben’s liking, despite his tired and burning eyes and muscles. He had hardly any time with George, but worked alternatively with Gilbert and Alex while their instructor focused on three couples in the back of the room that were struggling with the closed hold and adding dance steps. 

In less than a few slow, exhausted blinks, the class was over, and he was slinking toward the door, his bag over his shoulder, his muscles aching. 

“Mr. Tallmadge, a word, if you please,” Washington’s voice wasn’t stern, but it certainly wasn’t as gentle as Ben would have liked. Nerves erupted gracelessly in his belly and he gave a weak shrug to Anna, who raised her eyebrows at him. 

“I’ll wait for you,” she mouthed, pointing to the door. He nodded. 

The door closed with a loud thud that startled Ben enough that Washington blinked, looking sympathetic. “If you’re nervous,” he said gently, “we can keep the door open.” 

“I’m okay,” Ben reassured him as he stepped toward the door. There was nothing he wanted less than to have that door open, for their voices to leak into the hallway where people could hear them. George nodded and turned away again for a moment, dropping his towel on top of his tiny mini-fridge. As the silence stretched, Ben’s anxiety got the better of him, “if this is about my awful dancing –”

“You’re always so quick to assure me that your dancing is awful,” George interrupted shrewdly. “On the contrary, I thought you were more relaxed today, and it made your dancing far smoother.” 

“Really?” Ben replied. “You’re sure?” 

George laughed. “Of course, Benjamin. If I wanted to chide or correct you, I would have done so during class.” 

Ben fidgeted, the strap of his bag falling down his shoulder to the crook of his elbow. “Then…?”

“Why are you here? I thought you enjoyed my company,” George teased. Ben felt a spasm rocket through him at the possibility that George thought he didn’t want to be around him. 

“Of – of course I do,” he stammered.

“Relax, Benjamin, I was just kidding,” George reassured him. “I wanted to specify a time for your tutoring session tomorrow,” George clarified. “That is, if you still feel you need the extra attention.” He put just enough emphasis on the last few words that Ben felt, keenly, that he was barely talking about dancing.

Ben smiled, enough to make George smile as well. “I, uh, I think I do, sir.” 

“I thought you might,” George replied. “I have class until 2. Would you be free at 2:30?” 

***

They were in a different studio for Ben’s tutoring session, one that had a barre against the wall of mirrors and scuffs on the floor. Ben got there first, surveying the scene like he was afraid that George was hiding behind the door. He felt indescribably nervous, and no matter how many times he tried to rationalize this tutoring session to himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of date, something just over the line of proper. 

He stared at himself in the mirror, scrutinizing his appearance. His hair was still creased from pulling it into a ponytail for his trig class, his sleeveless, baggy shirt formless and faded. He sighed in distaste. He looked like a grubby little boy. 

“You look like a true dancer now,” George’s voice was soft, soft enough that Ben could tell he was trying not to startle him, but he jumped all the same. 

“Do all dancers look like they haven’t slept in years?” he asked, trying to play off his giddy jumpiness as coincidence. 

“Most of us do, yes,” George acknowledged, crossing behind Ben to drop his bag in the corner. “But I was talking about the shirt, and the muscular legs.” 

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” His voice was a borderline whine, and George turned back to him, his head tilted as he surveyed Ben’s shirt with renewed attention. Ben squirmed under the weight of his gaze, but said nothing. 

“My biggest issue with your shirt is that you don’t have more like it,” George finally concluded, shrugging. “Would you like to work on the waltz some more or would you like something a little more challenging?” 

Ben, still struggling to recover from probably the best compliment he’d ever received in recent memory, didn’t speak, but something in his face must have given George the affirmative. He took out a little tube speaker from his bag and set it by the mirror. “We will try the Viennese waltz, then,” he said, pulling out his phone from his pocket and pressing a few spots on the screen. 

A vaguely familiar classical song was soon pouring out of the speaker, and Ben was suddenly overwhelmed with nerves. 

“There’s that face again,” George said gently, stepping toward Ben with his closed hold already in place. “There’s nothing to be scared of. The Viennese waltz isn’t terribly different from the one you already learned.” 

“So why did you say it was challenging?” Ben asked shrewdly, fitting himself into George’s hold easily. 

“Because it’s faster,” George said with a smirk, his hand on Ben’s back pushing him just slightly closer. “That also means more trust, and it means you have to relax more,” he teased, his hand on Ben’s back sinking to the middle of his back and then just a smidge lower. “You’re tense,” he said quietly. 

“Of course I’m tense,” Ben replied sharply and yet weakly, trying to focus on the elusive tempo of the music, even though they hadn’t even started moving yet. “You’re touching me.” 

He hadn’t meant to say it, and for a few moments, he could delude himself into thinking that George didn’t even hear him, but George’s relaxed, casual hold tightened for just a moment before he relaxed again. 

“Well, Benjamin,” he said, ducking his head just slightly so it was closer to Ben’s ear. “You’re just going to have to get used to it.” 

Ben felt goosebumps spread over his neck but tried to remain impassive as the music stopped and restarted. George pulled back a little, enough to see all of Ben’s face without difficulty. 

“If it’s ever too much, or if you want me to back off, I want you to tell me,” he said seriously. “Teacher or not, I will not be hurt. Understand?” 

It was the first time Ben had ever seen George so serious that the flirtatious wrinkle by his eyes were gone, and Ben realized this was probably the first time George had ever been transparent with him thus far. Suddenly, their flirtation was that much more real, and that much more intoxicating. 

“I thought you were going to teach me how to dance,” Ben teased, making sure his tone was just light enough that George knew that he heard him. George smiled and adjusted his hold so their bodies were pressed together somehow both gently and possessively. 

“Let’s just see if you can follow for a bit,” George said in his ear. “And then we’ll adjust. All of this is on a learning curve.” 

He tilted his head slightly, enough that Ben’s chin was on his shoulder, George’s head just barely touching him. It felt less like a dance hold and more like an intimate embrace, and Ben relished in the warmth and familiarity for a moment before George was moving him through the steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song George and Ben dance to at the end of this chapter is the Second Waltz in 60 BPM. You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=172&v=KEXpqyFQW84


End file.
